My Fair Brady

by K. C. Wells

  Drake’s face glowed. “Great. Marty and Dawn are in high school now, and Belinda’s gotten involved in a lot of charity work.” His eyes widened. “Actually, I was going to call you. It’s our fifteenth wedding anniversary next month, and we’re having a weekend party at our place in the Hamptons. I was going to invite you to join us.”

  “Aw, that’s great. I’d have to look at my calendar, of course.”

  “Sure. I’ll send an invite for you and a plus-one.” Drake’s eyes gleamed. “Anyone special on the horizon I should know about?”

  Jordan shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing to tell.”

  Drake stroked his chin. “Hmm. There’s a guy in my PR department that would be right up your alley. Are you into blonds?”

  “To be honest I don’t really go for a particular type. And no, you are not going to set me up with anyone. Rest assured, I’ll be bringing a guest.” Jordan made a mental note to call Clive. His first college roommate was always up for a party, and they got along really well. And if it kept Drake from arranging a hookup…. He knew Drake’s ways of old. There was always the chance that he’d remember Clive from back then, but it was a risk Jordan was willing to take.

  “Excellent. I look forward to seeing you there.” Drake peered over his shoulder. “Don’t look now, but there’s a geeky guy hovering behind you, like he’s waiting to claim your attention.”

  Jordan glanced around and smiled. “Be nice. That ‘geeky guy,’ as you put it, is the best damn personal assistant I’ve ever had.”

  Drake bit his lip. “My apologies. What he lacks in appearance, he obviously makes up for in efficiency.”

  Jordan couldn’t help feeling somewhat irked. “Ever heard the saying ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’? So what you’re saying is, I should have some dishy guy working for me, who probably can’t do a quarter of what Brady does but who provides me with eye candy around the office? Give me someone like Brady every time. He’s reliable, trustworthy—and yes, he’s goddamn efficient.”

  Drake held up his hands as if to placate him. “Again, my apologies. I seem to have hit a nerve. I hope you’ll still accept the invitation to the party. It’ll be a lot of fun, and I know Belinda would love to see you again.”

  Slightly mollified, Jordan sighed. “We’ll see. And now I’d better find out what Brady wants. Good to see you again, Drake.” They shook hands, and Jordan turned to face Brady.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt, sir, but you’ve had an email that requires your immediate attention,” Brady said apologetically.

  Jordan waved a hand. “You weren’t interrupting.” He took the tablet Brady proffered and scanned the email. “Thanks. You were right. Email them back and tell them they can go ahead.” He gestured to a table. “Have you had breakfast?”

  Brady smiled. “I grabbed a cup of coffee in my room.” He grimaced. “The less said about that, the better.”

  Jordan pulled out a chair. “Then sit. I’ll fetch you a decent cup of coffee and some pastries.” Brady started to protest, but Jordan shook his head. “Pardon my bluntness, but you’ve worked your ass off these last three days. And seeing as I’m being honest….” He peered closely at Brady, noting his pallor and the lines around his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Brady’s smile faded. “Not exactly. I… I didn’t sleep well, and I’m not feeling 100 percent.”

  That did it. Jordan indicated the chair. “Sit. You’re going to have some breakfast, and then you’re going to take the rest of the morning off until we leave.” He cocked his head to one side. “You’ve already packed my bag, haven’t you?”

  “Well, checkout is at eleven. I’ve left out your toiletries in your bathroom, but yes, you’re all set.” Brady sat down.

  “Perfect. Then you sit tight while I get you that coffee I promised.” Jordan grinned. “Which is probably way better than what passes for coffee in our rooms.” He left Brady and went over to the buffet. As he filled a cup, Jordan realized Drake’s comments still bothered him.

  What does it matter what Brady looks like? He gets the job done.

  Jordan always liked to dress sharply, but that didn’t mean he was a slave to the latest fashion. He liked good-quality, well-fitted suits and no-nonsense ties in a solid color. So what if Brady had a style that was all his own? It worked fine for the office, so what was the problem?

  Jordan glanced over to where Brady sat, studying his tablet. Today’s bow tie was a deep bronze that seemed to go with his eyes. Then Jordan shook himself.

  Since when do I notice his eyes?

  THE driver took Jordan’s luggage and suit bags, then placed them in the trunk. Jordan gestured toward the rear of the car. “Yours too.”

  Brady shook his head. “I’ll get the train.”

  Jordan gave him a mock glare. “You most certainly will not. Uh-uh. Not when I have a car ready to take me home. We can drop you off too.”

  “You’re not going my way,” Brady protested. He didn’t need this, not when he was still feeling like shit.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Nowhere near the Upper East Side,” Brady fired back. He sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  Jordan regarded him closely. “You still don’t feel so good, do you? Well, we’re dropping you off, so deal with it.” He nodded to the driver. “His bag too, please.”

  Brady was in no shape to argue. Besides, he knew better. Jordan wasn’t about to take no for an answer. Then a horrible thought occurred to him. “What if I’m coming down with something and I infect you?”

  Jordan opened the rear door. “Get in.” He smiled. “And I’ll open a window.”

  There was nothing to do but comply.

  Brady got into the car and sank thankfully against the leather seat. Maybe this was better than taking the train after all. Jordan got in beside him and gazed at him expectantly. It took Brady’s befuddled brain a moment to realize he was waiting for the address. “West 111th Street, near Lenox Avenue. Harlem.”

  Jordan blinked but then nodded before passing it along to the driver. The car pulled away from the curb, and they left the airport behind them.

  “How long have you lived in Harlem?” Jordan asked after they’d been traveling for a while. Traffic on the 678 wasn’t that bad as they headed through Queens.

  “Since I started working for you,” Brady replied. “Before that I had this teeny little apartment in the East Village. Not that this place is all that much bigger, but it’s right around the corner from Central Park, and it’s handy for the subway.”

  “Is it just you, or do you share?”

  Brady chuckled. “Just me. There’s one bedroom. And I’ve had my share of weird roommates, so no, not gonna do that again. It might cost me more, but it’s worth it for the peace and quiet.” Not that he’d brought anyone back there. And how sad is that? Brady rested his aching head against the seat and closed his eyes, hoping Jordan would forgive him. He wasn’t being rude. He just didn’t have the energy or the willpower to indulge in small talk.

  What the hell is wrong with me? He’d been right as rain the previous day, but this had come down on him like a ton of bricks with no warning. Brady fervently hoped an early night with some Tylenol and whatever else he could find in his medicine cabinet would do the trick, because no way was he about to miss a day of work.

  Brady might not be indispensable, but when it came to knowing Jordan’s ways inside and out, he doubted there was anyone else in that building who could keep his boss on track.

  THURSDAY already? After three days of conferences, Jordan was more than ready to get back to work. He exited the elevator, pushed open the door, and—

  No Brady.

  Jordan stopped dead in his tracks.

  Celia, the receptionist at the front desk, gave him a knowing glance. “Yeah, he called in sick about a half hour ago. I don’t think I’ve ever known Brady to take a sick day.”

  Jordan had never known it either, not that he was totally surprised. He’d figur
ed whatever Brady had come down with in Nashville, it had to be pretty virulent, judging by the speed with which Brady had succumbed. By the time they’d dropped Brady outside his building the previous evening, he’d been almost wilting. He was still stubborn enough to refuse Jordan’s offer of help up to his apartment, however.

  “Can I get you anything, Mr. Wolf?” Celia asked with a bright smile. “Coffee, perhaps?”

  “Thank you, that would be great.” Jordan walked along the hallway, noting the conversations already taking place in several of the offices. He entered Brady’s office and stilled at the sight of the empty desk. Not having Brady there felt… weird. Jordan went through to his own office, dropped his briefcase on the couch, and strolled over to the large expanse of glass that offered a view of the Manhattan skyline. North of there was Brady, in God knew what state.

  Get well soon, Jordan said silently, aiming his thoughts in the general direction of Harlem.

  “Your coffee, sir.” Celia placed a tray on his desk and withdrew.

  Jordan poured himself a cup, then switched on his laptop. It was only then that he realized he was missing something: there were no newspapers on his desk.

  Jordan shook his head. It’s not as if I can’t find a copy of the FT somewhere.

  It took him a moment to realize that he had no idea if Brady had them delivered or if he picked them up on his way to work or what. Having them waiting for him on arrival had become as second nature as… getting dressed in the morning.

  Jordan took a sip of coffee and grimaced. It was slightly bitter and nothing like his regular coffee. He buzzed Celia’s intercom. “Celia? As a matter of interest, what coffee am I drinking?”

  There was a moment of silence. “Er, the same coffee we all drink, sir?” she said slowly. “It came from the coffeepot in the staff room.”

  One thing was clear: wherever Brady got his coffee, it certainly wasn’t there. “Okay, thanks, Celia.” He took one look at the dark brown liquid and shuddered. Have I become a coffee snob? Is that it? Then he shook his head. Brady had obviously found a coffee that Jordan liked and stuck to that, though where he kept it was anybody’s guess.

  Jordan opened his weekly schedule, thankful to have some idea of what the day held in store for him. It wasn’t the same as the detailed daily notes Brady usually provided, but it would do at a pinch.

  God, I hope he’s back to work tomorrow.

  The thought made him chuckle aloud. Had he become so reliant on Brady that he couldn’t cope on his own? It was just a change in coffee, an absence of newspapers, and a not-so-detailed schedule, for God’s sake.

  Time to just deal with it.

  Jordan had a company to run, and he’d managed just fine before Brady had even put his nose through the door. He had no doubt that he would manage just fine now.

  Chapter Three

  JORDAN glanced at his phone for the tenth time in about the last half hour. Where the hell is my lunch? No delivery, no box of something that managed to be nutritious and delicious—which was a minor miracle in Jordan’s book, because in his experience, healthy food bore more than a passing resemblance to cardboard. Yet what arrived in his office every day like clockwork was amazing.

  Only today? It hadn’t. Obviously someone’s clock was busted.

  When it got to an hour later and still no lunch, Jordan got up and walked into Brady’s office, staring at his desk as if that would tell him something. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the problem was. There’d been a delivery on Thursday and Friday, and Brady had been off sick then. So what the hell was wrong with Monday’s delivery?

  Then it came to him. The previous week’s lunches had been organized by Brady before he came down with the flu. And then the full force of that revelation hit: there would be no lunches delivered as long as Brady was off sick.

  Well, shit.

  Jordan hadn’t been having the best of days up until that point. This new knowledge just took a dump on the rest of his week. His stomach growled, and that was just a reminder of what hadn’t arrived. Jordan retreated into his office, buzzed Celia, and asked her to organize some sandwiches or something. Anything.

  When his intercom flashed, it was Celia, not with news of the impending arrival of food, but to announce a call from his sister. Great. That’s all I need. With a sigh, Jordan connected the call.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  Fiona chuckled. “Good to hear you too. You sound miserable. You okay?”

  He stifled another sigh. “Fi, to what do I owe the pleasure? Not that I’m unhappy to get a call from my little sister, but now is not a good time.”

  Her voice softened. “Aw, what’s wrong? I only called to say I went to see Mom on her birthday, and I saw the flowers you sent her. They’re gorgeous. You can smell them as soon as you go into the house.” Another wry chuckle. “Definitely scored yourself a point with those.”

  “Except I didn’t send them. Or the chocolates. That would be Brady, my personal assistant.”

  “Wow. Obviously a man with taste. Pass him my compliments.”

  Jordan huffed. “I would, but he’s off sick.”

  There was a pause. “Okay, Jordan, out with it. What’s going on?”

  He leaned back in his chair, the phone cradled against his ear. “I guess I’m having a bad day, that’s all.” More like a bad three days, and it certainly didn’t look like there’d be an improvement anytime soon.

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  Jordan snickered. “It’s more a case of what hasn’t happened. That man goes off sick for three days, and the place is falling down around my ears. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but that’s how it feels.”

  “For example?”

  He sighed inwardly. Where do I start? “My lunch didn’t arrive today.”

  Fiona snorted. “Why—did it miss the bus or something?”

  “Do you know how long it took me to work out that Brady hadn’t ordered it? He organizes all my meals that come into the office. He even makes sure they’re healthy. I swear, he and Dr. Peters are in cahoots with each other.”

  “Good for him. Someone has to watch out for you. Is that it? Your company’s falling down around your ears because you got no lunch?” She snickered.

  “I wish. No, what’s really hit home during the three days he’s been off so far is just how much he does around here—for me. It might be my company, but it’s Brady Donovan who keeps my routine moving like clockwork.” That realization had certainly given Jordan’s self-confidence a knock.

  “How?”

  “I know he organizes the cars that take me everywhere. I know he sets up my meetings and works out my schedule. It’s all the rest, the stuff that goes on that I never get to see. Take this morning as a for instance. I spent the whole morning going through all the reports from the department heads. You wouldn’t believe how much crap I had to wade through in order to get to the important stuff.”

  “Well, don’t you usually do that?”

  “No! That’s my point. Brady reads through all that, then decides what I need to see. Not only that, he sends out memos to those departments without troubling me about them. And when I arrived here this morning, the first person in my office was a department chief, asking when the new assistants were starting work. I didn’t know we were taking on new assistants. That was when I learned that Brady usually deals with the lower-level hiring, because apparently it’s a need-to-know situation, and I don’t need to know about it. And to be honest? After the headache I got trying to sort out the issue, I’m grateful for Brady taking those matters out of my hands.”

  “He sounds very efficient.”

  “That’s just it. He does his job, quickly and efficiently. Take Mom’s flowers. Okay, I’ll admit, I’d totally forgotten it was her birthday until she called to thank me for the flowers. But it wasn’t just her. He sends gifts to clients without me ever having to think about it. He sorts out all the press interviews and articles.” Jordan sighed again
. “And the latest fiasco was just another example of how much he does.”

  “Fiasco? That doesn’t sound good.”

  “The biannual raises and promotions weren’t published. See, what usually happens is Brady reviews everything, like I told him to, then brings the lists to me for approval. I just okay it without question because he’s already gone through it all and I know it will be fair and accurate. Only—”

  “Only, he’s not there to publish the lists, is he? So it didn’t get done.” Fiona sighed too. “Yeah, don’t lose this guy. He sounds amazing.”

  “He’s doing exactly what I asked him to when I hired him. I told him I wanted things to run like clockwork, and I didn’t want my day cluttered with minutiae.” Brady had taken him at his word, it seemed. After one day of trying to sort out who was due for a raise/promotion, Jordan’s blood pressure had climbed, and he’d taken a couple of Tylenol to deal with his thumping headache.

  If this is what life is like after three days, imagine what state my health would be in if Brady hadn’t been there. Jordan guessed Dr. Peters would really have grounds to worry.

  There was a knock at the door, and Celia stuck her head around it. Jordan wanted to sigh with relief when he saw the box in her hands, but he’d done way too much sighing in Fiona’s ear already.

  “Hey, sis, my lunch has arrived.”

  “Thank God for that. Go eat. Maybe you’ll be less growly after.”

  “Growly?”

  She laughed. “You wanna know what I think? The best thing that could happen to you is for this Brady to come back to work. Because it sounds to me like you really need him.”

  Jordan couldn’t agree more.

  After lunch, he had a quick meeting with the four department heads, just to make sure everything was on track. Thankfully, for the first time that day, things appeared to be running more smoothly.

  Dan Fremont lingered after the other heads had left the office. “Are you doing okay, Mr. Wolf?”

  Jordan snickered. “Why do you ask? Do I look as frazzled as I feel?”